Can Babies Dream?
by BbuLeu
Summary: Short soppy one shot about the night Bra was born and the Princes passing thoughts. 2nd story ever written :


~ **discalimer**: I own nothing except my brain. Don't take that away from poor little me !

~**A/N**: Soooo here's another one shot. It's short, it's soppy, it was my second story and my writing style isn't what it is now, but I was _detirmined _to give you something! My 130 days is going really slow atm and I havn't had time or brain power to write anything new :( *blames uni schedule*.

~**R&R please x** reviews = motivation =higher writing powerlevel ;)

On a dark June night, and the first night of summer at that, Vegeta sat in the chair next to Bulma's bed. The whole room reeked of chemicals and poisons and disinfectant, but with the amount of times he's spent in hospitals, infirmaries, sick bays, and other forms of medical centres, he had learnt to ignore it to an extent when it no longer hurt his sinuses. That didn't stop him from feeling at all comfortable. After all, think of _why_ had he often stayed in any of those places?

Yet, here he was, sitting on a gaudy hospital chair that seemed part fabric, part plastic, watching his sleeping wife, clearly exhausted. Between them was the transparent shallow cot that held their daughter, a pink ball of blanket with blue fuzz on top. She too was sleeping, like her mother. Both peaceful _now_, though during the day they had both done more than their fair share of screaming.

He allowed his head to roll back and rest against the chair, whilst pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. He wasn't exactly tired, but he did feel sleep deprived. Bulma shaking him awake at three am disturbed his usual four to five hours of sleep per night. She hadn't needed to tell him that her waters had broken; he could feel it on the back of his legs. And so started the routine of waking up their twelve-year-old son, getting themselves dressed (well, Bulma in a dressing gown) and heading for the hospital. It was all done by the cover of darkness.

That was just the early morning. Half an hour maximum. It was the next 14 hours of blood curdling screams, endless blame and her constant need to keep him near by that was testing. Somewhere in that time, Kakarrot's brood paraded in, too bright and bubbly even for their standards. It's not even like this child was part of their family. Oh, and Trunks had thrown up twice. That boy faced Buu, fusion, death- you name it, but tell him that he was going to be a big brother in a just a few short few hours (_Bulma's _words, not his!) and he turned into a vomiting wimp.

Thankfully, he had clamed down when Goten had distracted him, and Gohan had reassured him that being an older brother was actually quite fun. From what Vegeta could remember, being the eldest sibling hadn't exactly been _fun_. Then again, look how long ago that was, and for how long he even knew his brother…

Vegeta snapped back to reality and away from his old life at the sound of the new life whimpering next to him. She stared at him as he stared back, big blue eyes curious as to what to do next. Cry probably. With that, sniffles quickly escalated to wails and tiny fists clenched either side of her head. Intuition told him that if she didn't shut up soon then Bulma would wake too. Even Vegeta, gruff as he was, could see that she needed as much sleep as she could possibly get. With that, he picked up the baby.

Bra stopped immediately. Amazing. Vegeta felt a twinge of pride as he realised that it often took a few seconds for her cries to decrease to nothing, but with him, she just-stopped.

"Good."

With that, he shifted her into a more comfortable position. Her faint rosy check against his chest and a hand gripping his shirt. The more Vegeta gazed at her, the smaller she looked, much more fragile than he had originally realised. With one finger he caressed the back of her fist. Its grip on his shirt was relentless. It was strong for such a small hand. And it was such a _tiny_ hand; it could barely fit around one of his solid digits. Her round eyes were shining so brightly as she looked up at him again and he couldn't help but be drawn into their blue depths. His entire family had the same blue eyes. Bulma's showed lust and honesty, Trunks' held respect and trust, but both showed love bubbling deep in the bottom of those oceans. Bra's contained the glassy but curious expression held purely by those who had only been alive for seven hours.

Seven hours. It was almost midnight. In about ten minutes it will be _the next day_, and they will no longer be able to say _Bra was born today_; instead it will be _Bra was born yesterday. _For some reason, Vegeta couldn't help but feel a bit cheated. You'll only be born once in your entire life, and it all happens within twenty-four hours. Or seven in this case.

The second-time father stopped by the large square window across the room. In all honesty, he hadn't realised he was walking towards it until he came face to face with the star mottled sky, the half moon nestled in its sapphire cushion. He sighed and focused his gaze deeper into the inky heavens.

"I came from out there, you know. Far away on an ancient planet that I was named after. We ruled for hundreds of years and were a proud warrior race. It was red; red soils, red rocks, pale red sky. I had red hair in my youth, before it grew out. Part of you came from there too; my blood runs through your veins. It's not there any more." Vegeta pulled his chin from a majestic height to a humble one. "This planet has more greens and blues." He glanced across at his woman; sound asleep at the other end of the room. "A lot of blue."

He slowly lowered his gaze to the baby, oblivious to everything he had whispered to her. Her eyes were closed and her soft breath was warm, even through his shirt. His brows furrowed when he watched her cupid-bowed lips moving, clenching together, then relaxing, clenching together, then relaxing, again and again. If he listened carefully, there was a faint sucking sound.

His heavy eyebrows relaxed as he pondered; can babies dream? It's not as if they'd have anything to dream about. Ceiling tiles, most likely. Or feeding. Maybe that's what she was doing now? Vegeta lightly chuckled at the thought that she dreamed of food, her appetite from her heritage clear as crystal.

But he abruptly stopped and the small smile that graced is face evaporated. If babies _can_ dream, then can they have _nightmares_? Vegeta's blood ran cold. He had more nightmares then he can remember, most being what he'd done in reality. Or fear of losing something; power, respect, himself… Bulma, the boy…

Actually, the one thought that really terrified him was the fact that, to millions of people, dead or alive, _he was _their nightmare. Whatever he'd do, whatever he'd say, it was always their last moments and he'd probably enjoy it. Hell, he'd be laughing his arse off. The last of the hell-bent Saiya-jins haunted dreams for a living. Vegeta knew exactly what he'd done as he was doing it, and looking back on it he could still understand his own logic. But it never really hit home until now.

Because he didn't want little Bra to have _any_ nightmares. She was, after all, the only being in the universe that didn't know what he was inside, what he had done, what he was capable of. And he wanted it to stay that way. He missed his chance when Trunks was growing up, and although the boy had truly forgiven his father, there would always be that little memory tucked away somewhere, of what he used to be like. The same thing with everybody else, even his own wife. At one point, they had all feared for their lives because of him.

But not this one. Not Bra. _I refuse! _

The Prince of all Saiya-jins stood tall as he promised to every star and prayed to any passing deity that she will not have nightmares. _Let nothing damage her. Let her live in peace and protection. _

The smaller than average baby, cradled in his muscled arms, cushioned herself further against his chest.

_Let nothing hurt her. _

He stroked her miniature head with his thumb.

_Not once- not ever. _

Bulma stirred and half sat up.

"Hmmn… Vegeta?"

Her husband broke the staring competition with the night sky and moved to sit on the bed to face her.

"What's the time? It's dark outside. Where's Trunks?"

"Of course it's dark woman, it's six minutes to midnight. And Trunks is at Kakarrot's."

"Oh." Bulma pulled herself upright some more. "You're holding Bra?"

Vegeta's face didn't change. It was still calm and passive. "Do I need _permission _to hold my own offspring? Besides, she was crying. If I didn't then you would have woken up and screeched at me for not doing so." As if on cue, Bra woke up for real and whimpered again.

Bulma was already tugging her nightie aside to feed her baby, and the happy feeling of fulfilling your child by simply using your own body took over. But when she saw how Vegeta slowly and so smoothly transferred Bra from his chest to hers she was simply flabbergasted. And if her genius brain weren't failing her, she would have seen a tiny spark of reluctance and moving her. _Disappointment. _

And there was another spark of something there as well. The ways his eyes went soft when he watched her feed, how his hand gently held the back of her head, fingers moving ever so tenderly thorough her soft curls…. The same look she saw when they held one another after a long day, the same look she saw when Trunks cheered in triumph or joy.

_Love. _Both knew it, neither said it. But that doesn't mean it wasn't true, especially when both of them smiled down at their creation. Outside, the stars twinkled the same as they always have done and always will do. But now they passed on a message to other stars through Chinese whispers, the declaration echoing light-years way;

_Princess Bra Bulla Briefs, daughter of Prince Vegeta, will never have nightmares. _


End file.
